Chapter 10 Leathered Nemesis
Lyra stood the next morning before the cracked mirror in her room, pulling her dark hair into a loose knot.
Her fingers trembled slightly and she told herself it was the cold. But deep down, she knew something else was wrong, something inside her was fighting her peace.
Suddenly, she saw the shadows in the room stretch out, reaching for her as the light dimmed.
It had been bright outside just seconds ago, but now it seemed a storm cloud hovered.
Lyra froze. “Who’s there?” she gasped.
Her reflection stared back at her with glowing crimson eyes. They were bright and inhuman. Those eyes were not hers. They belonged to the Blood King.
“No…” she whispered in terror.
The Blood King was trying to reach her through the mirror, through whatever tether existed between them through their blood bond.
Groaning, she winced and grabbed the vanity table. “No…no,” she whispered, forcing the vision away.
“Lyra? Are you okay?”
She jolted and whipped around so fast she nearly stumbled.
Dax stood in the doorway. “You seem out of breath,” he said, half teasing and half worried.
She blinked and turned back to the mirror.
Her eyes were normal again. No crimson, the shadows and storm clouds had completely vanished.
“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice trembled.
Dax stepped in, studying her face. “Is it really you, Lyra? Ryker tried to explain that rebirth is possible, but I’ve never heard of it among werewolves. Only vampires.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Then again, I guess that makes sense since you’ve been sired by a bloodsucker.”
“I didn’t choose this life. It just happened,” she retorted.
“No one’s judging you. I’m asking how you feel.”
Lyra looked at her reflection again and shook her head. “I don’t feel like myself,” she confessed. “I feel like two entities trapped in one body. Like I’m me, but something else is also in there.”
Dax exhaled slowly and crossed his arms. “Makes sense. Tessa doesn’t believe you’re the same person. She thinks you’re a vampire girl here to steal Ryker’s affection.”
Lyra snorted. “Of course she does.” Then she added, “I’m guessing that’s because he’s been sleeping with her?”
Dax hesitated. “It’s been rough since you left. He hasn’t been himself. And yes, she filled a void, but she never replaced you. He misses you more than he’ll admit.”
They stood in silence.
Lyra sank into the chair with a sigh. “Dax, when will this be over? When will I feel normal again? I don’t know how I became this creature. It scares me. What if I hurt someone? Where do I get help?”
Dax leaned against the wall, rubbing his neck. “Ryker rescued me from bloodsuckers once. They kept me and tortured me. I survived because he found me. And yeah, he uses that as leverage sometimes, and thinks he owns me.”
Lyra met his gaze. “You used to take his side all the time. I remember the day I caught him with that girl. You told me to leave him and stop humiliating myself.” Her tone was sad, not accusing. “What changed?”
Dax’s jaw tightened. “I always wanted the best for you. You were losing your mind thinking he didn’t want you. I wanted him to reject you so you could have your life back. And when he finally did, I thought you’d be free.” He swallowed. “But that was the same day you died.”
Lyra lowered her gaze. “It was more than heartbreak. I loved him with everything in me. Even now, some part of me still calls out to him.”
Dax didn’t hide his displeasure. “Well, now that you’re a vampire, there’s no mate bond anymore.” His tone made it sound like a relief.
Lyra blinked at his bitterness.
Before she could respond, he pushed off the wall. “We leave in ten minutes.” He disappeared into the hallway.
Lyra stared after him, wondering how bad things between him and Ryker had gotten.
Everything was changing too. She barely understood who she was anymore. But one thing remained clear, the Goldcrest Pack owed her a debt.
And she intended to collect, not only to prove her worth, but to see the look on the woman's face.
“She’ll be shocked,” Lyra chuckled.
She zipped up her leather jacket and stepped outside. Pack members were mounting their bikes, engines growling loudly.
And there, standing tall and unmoving as a mountain, was Ryker.
His bike was a monster, black-on-black chrome with red handles and a blood-red helmet under one arm. But what made her stop was the bike beside him.
Hers.
The matte-black beast with silver trim. The curved handles. The scratch on the left tank from when she crashed into the old iron gate. Even the helmet—black with a red streak—was the same.
Her breath hitched.
“This belonged to me,” she whispered.
Ryker nodded. “I kept it all these years. For you.”
A loud scoff sounded behind him.
Tessa, perched on her bike, crossed her arms with a smirk. “Pathetic,” she muttered.
Half a dozen men, including Dax, waited nearby, engines rumbling.
Ryker stepped toward Lyra. “As my queen,” he said softly, “I want you to ride with me. But I know you’d rather feel your own bike beneath you.”
Lyra said nothing. She swung her leg over her bike and settled into the seat.
The engine roared beneath her, and something inside her clicked. For the first time since returning from the dead, she felt like herself. The vibration, the gasoline, the wind. Every memory surged back.
Ryker mounted his bike and faced the pack.
“Dax found proof that Goldcrest was behind the raid,” he growled. “So we strike back. And this time, Lyra settles her own scores.”
Lyra revved her bike, eyes narrowing.
The IronFangs MC thundered down the desert road in a cloud of dust, leather and steel.
It was only a few minutes’ ride, but Lyra stayed ahead, adrenaline flooding her veins. Wheels screeched as they halted before the gates of the Goldcrest Pack.
A towering mast stood ahead with a stone fountain at the border. A snarling wolf sculpture, covered in moss, marked the center.
The Alpha of Goldcrest stomped out of the main hall with a bottle of beer in hand.
He looked exactly as Lyra remembered, red-faced with patchy beards and a permanently offended expression.
“What are these miscreants doing at my door again?” he barked. “I gave back everything!”
Lyra got off her bike, boots hitting the gravel. “I want to speak to your old lady.”
“My old lady’s not home, girlie!” he spat.
But moments later, a woman stepped out, wrapped in worn leather, cigarette dangling from her lips.
Catelyn.
Lyra’s hands curled into fists.
“Hello, Catelyn,” she hissed. “Did you really think I’d let you rob me of my emerald jewels and walk away?”
Catelyn’s cigarette dropped. “How do you know about the jewels?”
Lyra smirked. “Does the name Lyra Kael ring a bell?”
The woman staggered. “Did she send you? She’s lying! That bitch didn’t own jewels!”
Lyra stepped
forward, eyes cold. “She didn’t send me.”
She leaned close, her voice dropping. “I am Lyra Kael. And I am your nemesis.”
Catelyn paled.